July 26, 2010
Movie Review: Toy Story 3
If you haven't already seen "Toy Story 3," I highly recommend it. It may very well be the best of the trilogy. Yes, they merchandized the hell out of it. But if you can overlook that, you'll be doing yourself a favor. Three-year old The Spare (Billi's youngest) was sitting next to me, and he only said three sentences during the entire movie. This from a kid who talks even when he's asleep.
I can tell you two things about this movie without giving anything away.
1. I didn't see it in 3D because I don't enjoy vomiting. There's something about my eyes that just doesn't jibe with the whole 3D thing. Probabaly because I myself am superficial and one-dimensional, and that's how I prefer to see the world. But the 2D version of "TS3" lacked absolutely nothing.
2. This movie, in my mind, will always be entitled "Ken Gets His Groove Back."
I almost had a happy-pee when I saw this scene:
During the fashion show, in my head, I was going, "Have it, have it, need it, have it, don't want it, need it..."
Pixar really did their homework because those were all actual Mattel outfits. Of course, the Lederhosen would never fit a Superstar Ken body because they were made for Original Ken, who was much leaner, but... oops! My nerd is showing.
The Ken featured in the movie is from the 80s, but the last outfit that Ken wears in his fashion show -- the piece de resistance, if you will -- is from the 1968 Live Action Ken.
Whom I own.
Awwwwwww, yyeeeaaahh. That's the complete, original outfit on the 1968 Ken. Yes, those are orange, satin pants, why do you ask? Live Action Ken is named so because his knees bend and his waist pivots, which was a big, fat, hairy deal for a Ken doll the year before I was born.
It was funny seeing Ken up on the big screen. It was like, "Hey, I know that guy!" I hope he'll still take my calls. I wonder which Hollywood starlet he's going to dump Barbie for...?
Posted at 07:25 AM | Comments (1)July 23, 2010
Flow It, Show It, Long as God Can Grow It
Despite all my mascaras and shopping and self-indulgent behavior, I have only one true vanity: my hair.
My hair has lured many men to their ultimate demise. Sometimes, it's even deliberate. One time, at a church youth group lock-in, there was a certain gentleman in whom I'd taken a particular interest. So while we were all watching a movie during the wee hours, I laid down next to him to sleep. And while feigning sleep, I flipped my hair so that it fanned across his denim-clad thigh. He was hopelessly smitten before sunrise.
A few years later, a different gentleman had the nerve to dump me. Me! He gave me the whole I-need-to-find-myself talk while at his apartment, then wanted to drive me home. I excused myself to the powder room first, to splash some cold water on my red, blotchy, tear-moistened face. On my way back from the bathroom, I ducked into his bedroom, raked my fingers through my hair, and laid the loose strands across his pillow.
A week later, he called me and begged me to take him back. Two months later, he admitted it was the hair he found on his pillow that sent him running back to me. I never told it I'd planted it there.
Mwah ha haaaaaaaaaaa. I know your weaknesses, gentlemen, and I will exploit them.
Flash forward to the current man. When we'd first started dating, I sat in front of him in the church choir. The cobalt blue choir robes were the perfect compliment to my long, blond locks. Someone was thinking naughty thoughts mere feet from the pulpit...
Takes a lot of time, this hair. Every damn day, I wash it, rinse it, condition it, let it sit, rinse it. Then I towel-dry it, comb it out, let it air dry as much as possible while I get dressed, put on my face, and eat breakfast.
A few weeks ago, in the elevator, a lovely woman with curly brown hair asked me how I get my hair so straight and perfect.
"Um, I blow dry it with a paddle brush."
Yup. That's all I do. I'm sure she was hoping for some trick she could use to get her hair the same way, but there's no trick. You gotta be born with it, baby! She hates me.
But it's a love-hate relationship that I have with my hair. I'll bet I could sleep a half an hour later every morning, if I wasn't so damn vain. But it's all worth it. Like when Di called my bangs "perfection." The ultimate! She couldn't have said anything nicer!
And whatever happened to that lesbian drummer who called me She of the Immaculate Hair...?
Jeebus, can you believe I just wrote for twenty minutes about my damn hair?! Well, it's on my mind lately. I need a trim. Yesterday, my hair was fine. But today? I need a haircut IMMEDIATELY because my ENDS are INSUFFERABLY DRY and FUZZY! My hair is dis-immaculate, and I won't stand for it.
When my hair gets like this, I usually flat-iron it a bit in the morning. (Yes, I just used flat-iron as a verb.) Just to tame the ends a bit. They get particularly wingy in this humid weather.
But yesterday, when I went to turn on my iron, there was a piece missing. See, there's a little comb attached to the side that combs my hair straight while heating it. Frankly, it don't know why they sell the damn irons without the little comb attachment, but they do. And in droves. It's quite a quest to find an iron that DOES come with a comb attachment. But I did, and I dropped a stupid amount of money at Target to obtain it.
But now the comb is gone. Like... vanished. I have no idea how it happened. The iron never leaves the three-foot-by-four-foot powder room. And I'm the only one who ever uses it. WHERE THE HELL COULD IT HAVE GONE?!
I'm certain the dogs didn't sneak into the bathroom and chew off the comb. That would require a level of planning and cleverness that they are just not capable of. Husband didn't touch it. No one stayed the night and borrowed it. It didn't just fall off because I would have easily found it!
And there are a very limited number of items in that bathroom to begin with. Toilet, pedestal sink, towels, wall clock, tiny medicine chest. Not a lot of places for it to hide! I am so irritated by this, I can't even describe it. There's no logical explanation for the disappearance of my iron attachment, and there's no point in me keeping an iron that doesn't have the little comb, so I'm gonna have to buy a whole new flat-iron because of a thirty-cent attachment!
RRRRRRRAAAAAAARRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!
There's only one explanation: The Spare, on his most recent visit, having wearied of my hair brushes, make-up brushes and mascara, discovered my flat-iron while hiding from The Boy Child, removed the little comb, and hid it somewhere in my house.
And how weird is it that that is literally the only explanation that makes any sense to me...?
Posted at 09:58 AM | Comments (0)July 20, 2010
With Sprinkles On Top
Last week, our ever-so-competent-and-helpful Management Dept. sent out the following email to our entire organization:
(Please note: we are in a complex of five buildings -- 6725, 6735, 6745, 6755, and 6765. We are in the 6765 building.)
Please be aware that today there will be an ice cream social in the east end of the complex, including 6725, 6735, and 6755 W. Road. Due to lack of funds, the 6765 building will not be participating.
I swear to God, people, that's a cut and paste.
The odd email left many things open to speculation. Why send the email if we can't participate? Wouldn't it be better just to leave us in the dark? Why dangle ice cream in front of us, only to let us know that we won't be getting any? Did they just want us know that, should we happen upon the ice cream, we were not allowed partake of it? And most importantly -- what kind of ice cream, and would there be toppings?
I was tempted to send the following email to the entire building:
Please note that today, there will be an ice cream social in the front of the building, including 6725, 6735 and 6755 W. Road. There will be sprinkles and chocolate sauce. We will also have live dancing bears and a couple of elephants on loan from Barnum & Bailey on the front lawn.We would ask that you not exit through the front of 6765 W. Road, as there will be a four-loop roller coaster positioned on the front lawn, along with the Notre Dame marching band performing their greatest hits for the W. Road addresses noted above. Following the ice-cream social, helicopter rides will be lifting off from the 6th level of the parking garage, including a whirl-wind tour of the lake front, before returning to the elephants and ice cream.
When you do exit the building, we want to apologize forthwith for having to step over the electric cables that are running to the bandstand, likewise positioned on the front lawn. Performing tonight will be Elton John and, (okay, this was going to be a surprise, but what the heck), the rockband U2.
Due to the cost of the event, however, we will not be participating in it. We did, however, want to let you know that it is taking place, so you are in no way hindered from exiting the building in a timely manner.
Instead, my Cool Lesbian Chick friend pooled her money with a few co-workers to buy ten boxes of ice cream sammiches, which they then shared with the entire company.
Now that's what Jeebus would do.
Posted at 06:47 AM | Comments (2)July 15, 2010
The Follow-Up Interview
Well. After Rose told me about Laura Miller being the physical manifestation of All That Stands In My Way, it seemed that everyone in the world wanted to chime in on what kind of person Laura is. I heard the words "inappropriate" and "lazy" a lot.
I also learned that, years ago, Laura used to work in the unit we've both applied to. She had no clue how to behave around the V.I.P.s that unit deals with on a daily basis. But it took "years of struggle" to get her transferred to a different department. Sadly, neither Steel nor WM were around during that era, so neither of them are aware of Laura's checkered past. Nor, apparently, did HR feel it their duty to inform anyone.
But after many bowls of ice cream and hours of t.v., I came to the zen-like acceptance that, if they aren't smart enough to hire me, than they are too stupid to deserve and appreciate the awesomeness that is me. Besides, who doesn't love a little bout of unemployment? I could finally paint the hallway...
Screw all that, Wenchie! Tell us how the second interview went!
Okay, my darlings, I hear you! The second interview was shorter and less formal... and AWESOME! I rocked their fucking socks off! It's like there were angels hovering around me, depositing the most PERFECT answers into my brain, so that I could put them forth with sincerity and charm.
First, they let me know that they're glad they have some prior knowledge of my work skills, because if they'd had to base their decision solely in my first interview, I wouldn't have gotten a second. And I know that sounds harsh, but it's fair. I gave a tragically shitty first interview, and they were probably nervous that I was easily intimidated. So I assured them that that was NOT the case.
"I know! That first interview was horrible, but I want you to know that that was the exception and not the rule. I don't even know who that person was. I don't get nervous around new people or really important people. I've met all the V.I.P.s and got along with them great. There will not be a repeat of that episode."
They seemed reassured and even commented that I seemed more like myself. And smiling. Apparently, I'm known for smiling a lot. But, Wenchie, you hate people. Why smile at them? Because smiling disarms people and, therefore, makes my life easier.
They asked what I would have done differently in the first interview, and I said that I would have thought of all my great answers actually during the interview, instead of two minutes after I left the interview room.
"There's one answer in particular that I'd like to ammend. It's the first one you asked me -- why I applied for the job. And yes, all the answers I gave then still stand. I still want more money; I still want a permanant position; and I still really like working with the people in this department. But there's another reason I forgot to mention. I have outgrown the Administrative Assistant position."
Can't you just see them salivating?
"I can be The World's Greatest Secretary with one hand tied behind my back, and it's just not enough anymore. I want more to do, more to learn, more responsibility. I want to move up to the next level. I am totally ready for this."
They grabbed their spoons and dug into that one! And it's totally TRUE! It's not like I was bullshitting them or anything. I've outgrown being a secretary like I've outgrown cheap make-up and crop t-shirts.
All their questions were really general, leading me to believe that they had no particular issue they're concerned about. Like -- what do you think this department thinks of you?
"They like me! I know they do because every, single one of them told me that I should apply for this job."
Pause for laugh.
"And I like them. There are some units that don't help each other out. But during the big events here, everyone in this unit pitches in and helps out and works together and has fun. I like being part of that, and I've always felt that I fit in really well here."
Oh, I lied -- they did ask me one specific question, but I think it was more about Steel's experience with a former employee than it was about me.
He asked, "Let's say that you had some sort of problem with me. Something I said or did offended you, or you didn't think it was right. Would you feel comfortable talking to me about it?"
"Well, I wouldn't feel comfortable, but I'd certainly talk to you about it anyway."
"Why?"
"Because I know you and would assume that any offense was unintentional, and I would want you to have the opportunity to tell your side of things. It's not good to let stuff like that fester. It can hurt your working relationship and affect the whole team."
Another homerun! And it's funny -- a year ago, I would have never thought myself capable of confronting a superior about his/her behavior. But I've come to expect respect from people, especially the ones I work for/with because they should know firsthand how much I deserve it.
I've had practice diplomatically reigning in PhD's occassional arrogant snottiness, so I'm well-equipped to handle fire-breathing dragons now. And Steel is no dragon.
Finally, they asked what part of the job description I think I'd have the most trouble with.
"The budget stuff. I've only recently started to become familiar with the way our budgets are structured. I haven't had to make any decisions, but Alpha has included me in discussions and meetings, so I'm learning. And if you threw me into budget planning, well, that just means I'd have to learn it in a hurry!"
"Anything else about the job description you want to ask us about?"
"I know that I'm supposed to ask you questions so you can see that I'm interested and thoughtful, but honestly? I know this job. This job is a compilation of the three jobs that I temped in for you guys. There's nothing about it that looks unfamiliar."
Are you ready? Because this is where the fat lady sang. This is where I brought in the pyrotechnics. This is what my guardian angel leaned over and whispered in my ear:
"I've been all over this department, and all over this organization. I've picked up new skills and new information everywhere I went. So for three years, I feel like I've been -- unknowingly -- training for this position. Everything I've done and learned has been leading me here. I feel like -- this is it. This is what it's all been about. This is where I'm supposed to be."
Cue the music... aaaaaand scene.
I didn't actually invoke God or the Holy Spirit or anything, but I think I implied it enough to really hit home with them.
Now. Will they hire me? I don't know. Laura Miller, I've heard, is out of the running, but there is one other person being considered. I think I have a good shot. A damn good shot.
But even if I don't get it, I've proved to myself that I can be a fantastic interviewee, and I've proved to Steel and WM that I am not a dithering idiot. Not bad for fifteen minutes of chit-chat, eh? And I did it all while on the first day of my period, which is pretty Herculean, considering I'd rather me under my desk in a fetal position.
After the interview, my friend J.A.B. (Jab! Hee!) told me to send a quick email thanking them both for their time. Brilliant! So I did -- thanked them for fitting me into their busy week and giving me another opportunity to prove myself.
I got the following reply from Steel: "You did well, Wenchie. I look forward to the future."
Holy crap! Are you thinking what I'm thinking?!
Posted at 06:00 AM | Comments (1)July 12, 2010
News Flash: Reverse-Racism Is Still Racism
Recently, a lovely lass named Stacey commented that she is "an eat out girl," and I almost peed in my pants. Because I am twelve. Happily, she left her URL, and I followed it to find a very cool blog that is my new fav. (Heather, seriously, you just don't post enough, honey.)
Sadly, I do not have a Blogger account, which means that I can't comment on her blog. So I will comment here. On this post entitled "Deaf Negro."
Stacey, thank you. Thank you for reminding me that I don't always have to be hilarious. That sometimes, I can forego the punchline and snarkiness and just vent my spleen. And thank you, most of all, for thwaping me in the head with the truth -- getting pissed at "people of color" does not necessarily make you a racist.
Yeah, "people of color." PoC. That's this year's politically-correct term for anyone and everyone who is non-white. It's kind of hilarious, isn't it? I mean, it tries so hard to be all-inclusive and non-offensive that it's almost... retroffensive. I mean, how is that different from "colored" of the 60s?
Anyhoo, here's my beef. I've lived in an affluent, (nearly) all-white suburb of Chicago for the majority of my life. And I had to get a job with a church in order to learn about racism.
Oh, but the irony gets better.
I get along perfectly with all the black people that I've worked with. (No one is calling me "Scandinavian-American," so if I'm "white," they are "black.") Apparently, they even trust me enough to talk about their hair in my presence! Social taboo! And if they secretly resent me for my "white priviledge," they don't let on. So it's all good.
The few Asian people who work there... well, honestly, has anyone ever met an Asian person with a huge chip in their shoulder and something to prove? No. Asians are chill. Yes, I'm generalizing about an entire continent of people. Sue me.
I don't even mind when the random Middle Eastern chick who speaks with a really thick accent is impossible for me to understand when she reads the Lesson in Chapel. I'm mainly there for the music anyway.
Do I get annoyed when the Spanish-speaking people at work speak REALLY LOUDLY in their native tongue because the people around them can't understand them anyway, and therefore, there's no reason to use their Inside Voices? Yes. But that's because they are RUDE, not because they are Latino. And when they're speaking English, we get along famously. I don't even assume they're talking about me when they're speaking Spanish.
I actually enjoy working with a varitable cornicopia of races. I've learned a lot of cool things about people and the places they're from, the lives they've lived. Knowledge is power, and my co-workers have helped to stretch my mind to the ends of the earth. After living in a homogenous area all my life, I feel like more of a grown-up working in our little United Nations, you know?
I work with women who wear saris! I am worldly!
No, in the most tragic and poetic plot-twist ever, it is The Human Resources Department that houses the biggest fucking racists I've ever met. And worse? They hide behind their cry of "Diversity! Diversity!" I wanna punch them right in the throat.
When my current boss -- Head Boss, not PhD Boss -- was fighting H.R. to get me my measly six-month contract, HR Troll #2 actually said to him, "You can't hire her. Your department isn't diverse enough."
Head Boss adorably played stupid, saying, "Of course, we are. We're fifty percent women!"
(And if you don't think that women are a down-trodden minority who need every advantage they can get in order to get a fair wage, then you haven't seen the gender salary disparities where I work.)
But Troll #2 wasn't fooled. She acquiesced only because he played the surgery card: "While I'm on sick leave, recovering from surgery, I need to know that things here are running smoothly! This is the wrong time for us to make a staffing transition!"
Regardless, I had suspected all along that my easily-sunburned skin was going to be a liability. Why? Because EVERY ONE of my good work friends have confided to me multiple examples of underqualified PoC getting and keeping jobs they have no business doing, and being hand-selected for promotions they haven't earned.
Wenchie Is Not a Racist Disclaimer: I freely and happily confess that there are PoC where I work who have earned and deserved their positions. Nor are they the exception to the rule. (And I hate that I feel compelled to add this knee-jerk renouncement!)
As you know, I submitted an application and resume for another position here. (Why? Because I am a glutton for punishment. And the devil you know is better than the devil you don't.) The position is THREE pay-grades higher than the one I'm in now. And most importantly, it's a position that is, essentially, an aggregation of three other positions in that department (thank-you, recession-induced downsizing), ALL OF WHICH I HAVE DONE BEFORE.
That's right, you heard me -- I have temped in this department three times, and in the great "restructing" of us, my three temp positions were combined into one position.
It's like Franken-job -- designed specifically for ME. There's not a person in the world more qualified for this job than Yours Truly! I mean, it's a no-brainer, right?
Right...?
Right, and yet... I am losing sleeping, dreading the day when I see a brown-skinned, underqualified person take that position in my stead. And worse, I am composing, in my head, the huge YOU-CAN'T-HANDLE-THE-TRUTH-style speech I'm going to make before packing a box and storming off.
I will be stunned if I get this job because it means breaking a pattern I've watched over and over. Despite the fact that the department already has four times the required percentage of "diversity hires;" despite every, single person in that department begging me to apply for the position; despite the extremely black department head giving me exactly the information I needed for my resume and cover letter -- I will probably not get this job because H.R. has the final say in ALL hires.
How fucked up is that?
On Thursday, fifteen minutes before I was supposed to leave work, Rose came down to see me. (Rose is the Official Title's big, black secretary, if you'll remember. Okay, well, she's called The Executive Administrative Assistant. Whatever. She likes me, and she is HILARIOUS.)
"I know for a fact that it's just you and one other person who got follow-up interviews," she said.
"Really?"
"Yup. So you're a shoe-in!"
"Who's the other person???"
"Laura Miller."
"I don't know her..." So I looked her up on our company database. She's black. "Oh, I'm screwed."
"What?! No. Trust me -- you're a shoe-in."
"Well, that depends on who is making the decision. Because if HRT2 is making the decision, she's all about the Diversity Hire. And I am so not Diverse."
"Oh, fuck that. I'm all the diversity they need. 'Sides, you've got way more skills than Laura. She should just stay where she is and answer those phones, that's what she should do."
I cracked up. Laura's job is to answer phones and send people resources. So yeah, she's got about one-tenth the skills needed for the job. But she's BLACK. And she's very well-liked.
And now I'm more scared than I was before Rose visited. Nice to know that the Official Title's secretary is rooting for me -- over a fellow "sistah" even -- but I kinda wish she hadn't told me.
I smell HRT2's stench all over this. With Laura's pitiful resume, she shouldn't even have gotten a FIRST interview, let alone made it to a second.
I don't think I'm gonna get this job...
Posted at 05:56 AM | Comments (1)July 08, 2010
A Prediction, a Stupid Move, and a Brief Movie Review
In a million years, human beings will evolve/devolve to the point where we don’t have thumbs; just two fingers with which to press the buttons and release food pellets from our iFridge. And it’s all because of our bathrooms.
Once we step out of our homes, bathrooms everywhere become some sort of space pods. All you have to do is wave your hand in front of a sensor to flush the toilet, make the water come out of the sink faucet, dispense paper towels, and turn on the hand dryer. Oh, and then you can push the handicap button to open the bathroom door. And it’s only a matter of time before bathroom stalls will sense they are occupied and lock the door for you.
Sadly for me, my DNA was spliced with reptile DNA while I was still in the womb, and as a result, I cannot regulate my own body temperature. My body becomes the temperature of whatever space I’m in. Therefore, it is nearly impossible for me to activate any kind of bathroom sensor. Sometimes I have to move from sink to sink to sink, desperately flapping my hands around in the basin, trying to get a trickle of water.
So Heather and I went to see “Eclipse” the other day. I’m not proud. By way of a review, I’ll say that I think I’ve just seen the same movie three times, and I’m very tired of the worn-out stereotype that all really old vampires are stoic automatons with zero personality. But the action scenes were pretty good, especially the synchronized hood-removal.
"One, two, three -- hoods down!"
We bought our Junior Mints and went in for our pre-movie potty stop. I noticed my bangs had been made to be less-than-perfection by the wind, so I got out my hairbrush. After all, I was about to be in a dark theatre with a dozen people I would never see again. I had to look my best!
Brush in hand, I put my purse on the bathroom counter, in between me and the sink basin. I leaned over slightly to groom myself and promptly knocked my purse over. And then, the skin of a long-dead cow that made up my pink Coach purse managed to do something that I myself never have -– it turned on the water, immediately and with full force.
I was so resentful, I just stood there and glared at the water. Heather screamed and fished my purse outta the sink… but not before the water filled up the interior pocket that held my cell phone. Two potential financial losses, and all I could do was laugh bitterly while Heather pulled paper towels outta the dispenser.
Thank God Heather still has opposable thumbs or my cell phone would have been trashed. As it stands, only the brown leather shoulder strap on my purse has some water spots on it. The rest of it -– inside and out -– is pure and uncompromised. Which, I guess, says something for Coach craftsmanship. Coach leather: more supple and lifelike than the humanoid reptilian hand.
Posted at 06:10 AM | Comments (1)July 05, 2010
Updating the Loose Ends: Part II
Possibility
So. The day after my epicly awkward interview, I got a call from a woman who goes to my church and who ALSO works at the retirement center where I used to deliver hot lunches. (Meal on Wheels? Meet Wench on Wheels!) She asked for my resume because they need to replace a woman there who is moving on to bigger and better things. It's not my dream job -- I'd be working with food and geezers -- but it's well within my abilities, and it's money. It's a long shot, but I may have to resign myself to it.
Impending Layoffs
Meanwhile, back at ground zero, we're going to find out in mid-July who will be leaving this fall. Massive staff cuts are on the way, and this time, it won't just be we useless, superfluous support staff who are culled. They are targeting executives and directors and associate executives! The HORROR! Needless to say, although nothing's been said, I am 100% certain that my current contract will not be extended beyond August 31. That leaves less than two months to find me another cubicle to inhabit.
Restructuring
Of course, the November layoffs are just the appetizer. The real meat comes in early 2011, when the entire organization is restructured, and non-essential programs are slashed (along with the people who implement them). Instead of a dozen departments, we'll be three. THREE. Speaking from a strictly anthropological standpoint, this will be interesting to watch.
Follow-Up
Due ENTIRELY, I'm sure, to my impeccable reputation -- and certainly owing nothing to my disasterous interview -- I have a follow-up interview on the 14th. Thank God! A chance to redeem myself! And the buttercream on the cupcake? No H.R. trolls present! I'll be chatting with just Steel and WM! I'm so excited! I think I may actually be able to pull this off, people! Of course, there's always the possibility that I may be hired, only to be "downsized" in February...
Scary
Wouldn't it be ironic if PhD Boss' new venture were my only hope for employment? Please, Jeebus, don't let it come to that! I shall ply Thee with burnt offerings and songs of praise!